


Only Know You Love Her When You Let Her Go

by LilyFire



Category: The 100
Genre: 4x08, Angst, F/M, Goodbyes, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 20:32:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11089374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyFire/pseuds/LilyFire
Summary: "The best kiss is the one that has been exchanged a thousand times between the eyes before it reaches the lips" -- Where Bellamy tries to stop Clarke from sacrificing herself for their people in the name of science.





	Only Know You Love Her When You Let Her Go

**Author's Note:**

> A little creative license with 4x08. I don't own The 100, otherwise Bellarke would already be canon. Quote is not mine, and the title is inspired by the song from Passenger. Thanks for reading and enjoy :)

 

Praimfaya would crown the earth with its blistering gales in six days time. The water had already churned black, corpses from its inky depths rising to the poisoned surface. Rain dripped clear but burned like fire forged from ice. The large game had sickened and died, leaving the lands scorched and blown to dust. The sainted cure proved fruitless, the victim of the experiment perished in wretched agony. Unwilling and unable to bear the hatred of Murphy, to destine his love to the same brutality, Clarke injected herself with the nightblood.

_I bear the pain so they don’t have to._

The room held its breath as though the white walls and stainless steel sucked the air from its lungs, but soon her mother’s piercing cry shattered the silence. She wailed and begged, threatening the radiation chamber with a steel pike before Miller shot her down with a tranquilizer.

 

Abby slumped to the ground, cradled in Clarke’s arms.

 

“Jackson,” Wanheda’s voice was steady “How long do we have?”

 

“Barely a day.”

 

\--

 

When Bellamy heard of Clarke’s new plan, he slammed the door of the Rover shut and gunned it all the way to Allie’s gates.

 

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” he stormed through the hall, gun clanking against his hip and his boots drumming the floor.

 

Clarke sat wearily, waiting for the nightblood to circulate completely throughout her body.

 

“Clarke?” the muscle in his jaw ticked, and with a bittersweet smile she was reminded of when they had first met, his bellows of ‘whatever the hell we want,’ the crazed flames flickering to a roar in his tired eyes.

 

Now he dropped to his knees, clutching her hands in his own. His brown gaze so earnest and heartfelt it was as though the earth was cracking apart.

 

"We will speak privately.”

 

\--

 

Each length of his stride was a huff of exasperation, and she could feel the tension that prickled the air with every bunch of his muscles.

 

The luxuriousness of the room, its cream bedspread and glinting mirrors gave Bellamy no pause. As soon as the door clicked shut he whirled around, trapping her body against the frame, hands spread wide on either side of her head.

 

“Bellamy…” her tone was soft, haunted with the melody of _I’m sorry_

 

“You can’t do this.” His voice was ragged, every breath uneven to match the wild pounding of his heart.

 

“You can’t do this. To Arkadia. To the clans. To me.” He bowed his head, the brush of his curls against her cheek roused a sob from deep within her.

 

Gently, as though careful not to startle a wounded deer, she placed the palms of her hands flat against his chest. Bellamy shuddered, curling and uncurling his fists, biting back the tears that threatened to spill over.

 

“Look at me,” she tilted his chin up with her fingertips, drowning in the sorrow of his eyes as she fought for her next words “I have to do this. You know I have to.”

 

“Then let me do it with you.”

 

“No.” Clarke choked out, curling her arms around him tight, clinging to him with every fiber of her being.

 

“You can’t Bellamy, they need you.”

 

"They need you too, I need you. You keep me centered.”

 

She studied him then, through the glimmer of tears she could see the heartbreak etched onto his features. Worry knitted his eyebrows, fear trembled his lips, and pain tormented the depths of his mahogany gaze.

 

“We’re a team. Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake. Wanheda and her Warrior. The Princess and her knight.”

 

His pleas gripped her heart and awoke the tidal wave she had always felt but never dared put a name to.

 

 

_The best kiss is the one that has been exchanged a thousand times between the eyes before it reaches the lips._

 

 

“Bellamy,” their desperate breaths ghosted the silence of the room “I love you.”

 

She kissed him with all the ferocity of her love and the flames of her soul. And he returned the kiss, quenching the swelling waves of her fear and reducing her hatred and loneliness to ashes.

 

He lifted her with ease, relishing the clenching of her legs about his hips as he swept her to the bed. Heedless of the clean sheets and glowing candles that cast their dancing shadows against the mirrors, they collapsed onto its softness.

 

Desperation deepened the kiss, years of unspoken desire flaring to fierce fury. 

 

Clarke straddled him as she reached up and tantalizingly flung her shirt to the wall. Bellamy’s soon followed, and his scent embraced her senses as she put her lips to his neck.

 

His hands roamed over the taut skin of her back, tracing every line and memorizing every dip and curve. Her lips were rough on his throat, nipping and teasing until he felt the fire roaring in his chest blaze to a heated moan.

 

He tore at her bra, one strong arm about her waist, flipping her over so that she was the one pushed into the rumpled sheets.

 

Clarke’s golden hair, once a constant annoyance of the crown glittering atop her head, was spread across the pillow, bright against its pale colors.

 

“I love you Clarke.”his voice was breathy, inflamed by the terror of losing her. 

 

Their eyes met, speaking a language that only lovers knew, and before she could voice another fear with her watery blue gaze, he kissed her into silence.

 

Plump lips trapped hers, sucking until she moaned against the bruising kiss, and he edged down to the slender curve of her flushed neck. He nipped at her collarbone, sending shudders of desire coursing through every nerve.

 

Clarke's hands were at his chest, in his hair, pulling him closer, mingling the glistening dewdrops of sweat from their bodies. 

 

Bellamy paused, his chest heaving with the exertion, as he beheld her breathtaking beauty.

 

“You are so beautiful.”

 

He licked at her nipple and she arched upward, scrabbling for his wide shoulders.

 

The dipping shirts Clarke sometimes wore did no justice to her voluptuous figure, Bellamy thought. The plumpness of her breasts spilled over his cupped hands, her waist was hardened muscle, and her hips interlocked with his in a perfect rhythm.

 

Bellamy burrowed his head in the valley between her breasts, licking, sucking, and kissing every inch of skin.  He worshipped her body and poured all of his devotion, his pent-up frustration, his anguish, into loving her.

 

If today was the last sunset Clarke ever witnessed, Bellamy Blake was going to be damn certain it was the best.

 

Her breathy moans electrified the air as she dug her nails into the bronze of his taut shoulders. The sting of the pain surrendered to the intoxication of lust, overwhelming all senses but the melding of skin and pants of desire. Clarke’s fingers traced down from Bellamy’s collarbones, circling his nipples and ravishing the contractions of his abdomen, until she grasped at his belt.

 

“Bellamy.” It was a drawn out longing, impatient from months of waiting, and chased by the fear of death.

 

His eyes whispered _are you sure_ , but Clarke captured his hesitation with a consuming kiss.

 

With the last remnants of clothing abandoned they were bared to each other in all their glory. The candles had dimmed, as though to give the two lovers a shred of privacy, and the mirrors glimmered with silhouettes of their entwined bodies.

 

Neither exchanged a word as they relished the ambrosial lull. To Clarke, Bellamy’s physique was as lithe as a Greek god’s, and in another lifetime she would eagerly have sketched each ridge. The pair had long since revealed their secrets, confided their worries, and dragged each other away from the dark pit of hopelessness.

 

Their souls had already embraced, the sheer nakedness of this act only sealed their unspoken promises.

 

Three little words, _I love you_ , enchanted the atmosphere, and cooled passion from a tempest of lust to a gentle breeze of love.

 

They kissed, slowly, as though the end were eons away, as though Primafaya would wait for the two lovers to fade into glinting twilight. The heat of desire still pulsed fervidly, but succumbed to the warm, enthralling glow of love. Their ragged gasps waned to eclipsed moans with each thrust. Together they peaked like waves billowing to the stars, the afterglow shimmering with stardust.

 

Bellamy collapsed onto his side, draping an arm over Clarke and pulling her close. She nuzzled into the warmth of his body, head tucked beneath his chin, cheek against his heart.

 

The room stilled, and Clarke’s light breaths told Bellamy that she was asleep. He stroked her shoulder with his fingertips, planting a small kiss on a faint scar before encircling her tightly in his embrace.

 

Tears cascaded down his face and fell onto her golden hair. Warm and alive against his beating heart, Bellamy drowned in her touch and enshrined the moment into his memory.

 

\--

 

A timid knock at the door roused them both, and Clarke offered him a sad smile as she slipped from the bed.

 

He watched, hands gripping the sheets and unsteady breaths threatening to bring tears, as she cloaked her ethereal skin in a worn blue shirt. He watched as she combed through her long hair with wavering fingers, and when she doubled over with tears spilling through her cupped hands, he picked up the brush at the bedside. The quiet was chilling, his mind a blank slate as he reached for words, but nothing soothed the haunted spirit of the air.  

 

The walk down to the lab stretched endlessly, and yet seemed only a blip in space.

 

Her hand reached for his, and they remained intertwined until Clarke climbed into the radiation capsule.

 

 

“May we meet again Princess.”

 

 

And he let her go.

 

 


End file.
